


He knew Arthur wasn't really a...

by lisabounce



Category: Inception (2010), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Siblings, Arthur Finds Out, Arthur is Stiles' big brother, Big Brother, Coffee, Crossover, Gen, Pie, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisabounce/pseuds/lisabounce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen Wolf - the one where Arthur is Stiles' big brother. </p><p>Arthur has been in and out of Stiles' life for as long as he can remember, the he space between them is filled with text messages about the little things and the odd postcard. ‘tell dad i need a car.’ ‘i hate economics. its so bad. make it stop.’ ‘they sent me on a business trip to Bangkok. it’s gorgeous here. you’d love it. sorry i missed thanksgiving.’ </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles doesn’t really remember what it was like to have Arthur living in his house for more than a week or two at a time. He left for college when Stiles was three. He stopped coming back all summer, every summer after the funeral.

Sure, they talk but he’s … He’s the one that was interested in Stiles’ tamagotchis and his pokemon and got him the plush Cthulullu  for Christmas when he was ten and vanishes back to work again before Stiles and his dad can get used to his presence again. The space between them is filled with text messages about the little things and the odd postcard. ‘tell dad i need a car.’ ‘i hate economics. its so bad. make it stop.’ ‘they sent me on a business trip to Bangkok. it’s gorgeous here. you’d love it. sorry i missed thanksgiving.’ 

When he breezes back in with Eames, three weeks after … everything, Stiles is cautious. Eames sets off every instinct, every carefully honed warning signal he’s developed. He’s not a wolf but that doesn’t make him safe.

Arthur corners him one day, after Stiles jumped when Eames came into the kitchen, spilling coffee all across the floor. Stiles doesn’t miss the look that passes between them, the head-tilt guesture. _Leave._ _“_ Eames won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” Looks his big brother full in the eyes as he says it, lying through his teeth.

Arthur just sighs. “Come on, Stiles, we’re getting-” and he looks at Stiles’ hands shaking and says “we’re not getting coffee, I don’t think. But we need to talk about what’s been going on around here.”

 

Stiles gets his keys, digs them out of the pocket of the jacket thrown on the back of the chair and they jangle against one another. He’s trying to hold it together, he is but he’s short on sleep right now. Even more so than normal and it makes it hard. His hands always betray him.  
  
Arthur looks at him, holds out his hand. “Sorry, Stiles. I’m driving.”  
  
“I don’t get to drive?” Stiles asks, indignant right on cue.  
  
“No. In fact, we’ll take my car.” It’s like, somehow, people think his jeep is POS. And okay maybe they kind of have a point but everyone is blatant about it these days. Arthur’s rental car is nice, though. But soulless. It doesn’t have his jeep’s character - the temperamental clutch, the necessity to top up the oil and water every hundred-twenty miles, that funny noise in the CV joints when you turn corners too quickly…  
  
Eventually, they’re in a diner on the other side of the Hills and Stiles has pancakes and bacon and eggs and fried potatoes and blueberry sauce in front of him and Arthur has a grilled cheese sandwich. Arthur lets him eat, talking about an architect at the firm he works for, who’d love to come and see this place - she’s got a real thing for small town design and nostalgia at the moment and this place has it in spades. Stiles just eats, shovelling eggs dipped in blueberry sauce into his mouth. Eventually Arthur says “What’s been going on, Stiles?”  
  
Stiles shrugs, chews a bit more and swallows a bit before he even tries to speak around the mouthful of pancake. It’s easier to lie when you’re busy. People don’t notice so much. “Nothing. Oh, you know, I got to play first line and I turned into the Wicked Witch of the West.”  
  
“Dad’s sleeping with his gun next to the bed, Stiles.” _Don’t bullshit me Stiles. I know where your barbie dolls are in the attic_ says Arthur’s face. (Which –It’s not like he cares. Scott played with them, too but this is Arthur’s dangerous face.) “And you’re… Don’t lie to me, Stiles.”  
  
Stiles sighs and how? How does he put it? How does he even begin to explain in a way? “It’s complicated,” he says finally.  
  
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him, all polish and poise even as he adds sugar and cream to his coffee. “Uncomplicate it, Stiles. I have time.” 

 

Stiles doesn't intend to tell the truth, especially not to someone who has been completely outside it all, who won't believe him but Arthur just looks at him, calm and level. 

 

He starts with the edited version and Arthur freezes, face going hard and focused, all his attention on what Stiles is saying. “...and then Lydia was attacked by a mountain lion...”

 

Arthur holds his hand up. “Stop. You're lying to me, Stiles. You're contradicting yourself and your details don't make sense. Start again and tell me the truth.”

 

Stiles blinks a little and then, hell. This is his big brother. He starts over, words tumbling out of his mouth, fiddling with a napkin, folding it over and over again. Arthur is rolling a red dice through his fingers as Stiles talks. He snatches it way when Stiles reaches for it and tucks it back into a pocket. Eventually he stops him again. 

 

“I need to make a call,” he says and flags the waitress over, ordering Stiles pie and more coffee for them both. Stiles begins to eat because, well, _pie_ while Arthur thumbs the speed dial on his phone. “I need you to check a few things for me,” he says, short and sharp into the phone before moving out of earshot. When he comes back, he sits back down, placing his phone on the table and takes Stiles back to the beginning, question after question after question focussed like nothing else. Derek does a brooding focus that comes as a prelude usually to some utterly stupid plan. Alison does something when she practices archery and Stiles himself can hyperfocus but it's not. It's not like this. No-one has ever listened to him like this before. 

 

Stiles realises after a moment that it's not that Arthur doesn't disbelieve him. It's that he's building a picture of everything that's been said and everything that Stiles might have forgotten to say. (He knew Arthur wasn't really an accountant.) 

 

Arthur's phone buzzes eventually and Stiles can see the sms when he looks at it. ' _it checks out -e'_ and Arthur nods to himself and goes back to questioning Stiles. 

 

After a while, Eames arrives and sits down beside Arthur, snagging his coffee cup and drinking from it. Arthur rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything about it as Stiles finishes recounting the details of lacrosse practice. 

 

“If I asked you to leave them, leave Beacon Hills and never come back to keep you safe...” Arthur begins before Stiles shakes his head. 

 

“No.”

 

“You're sure?” Eames asks. “You won't leave?”

“No.”

 

They trade a look, Eames and Arthur and then Arthur says “Then I guess we need to teach you everything we can to keep you safe.”


	2. “Later, Stiles,” Arthur says. Trust me, Stiles.

Stiles finishes his pie. It's kind of sweet but he's not an idiot. A pair of not-actually-accountants might think they can help but he knows the pack, he knows Peter and the Argents and … and suddenly his mouth is moving without his brain being involved and “No, you can't. You don't know the pack or how stupid Derek is when he gets his sour wolf on and what do you even do?”

“We're accountants,” says Eames, utterly serious.

“Bullshit,” Stiles replies and drops his voice, leaning forward. “You've got what? Three guns without serial numbers with you in that bag in the spare room and you look for exits and if I did this--” and then, the next thing Stiles knows, he's face down on the table, between the plates, hand twisted up behind his back. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” Those bruises are still ...bruise-like.

“Your brother is worse than you are,” Eames says quietly. “Don't ever go through my things again, kid.”

“Don't bring that stuff into my dad's house again and I won't,”Stiles replies, sitting up again, rubbing his wrist. Of course he searched Eames' bags. “What do you really do?” What do you really do that makes you can even start to help me? “Scott and I had a bet three years running that Arthur's a spy but you're ...not. You're not hunters.”

“What makes you say that?” Eames' voice is quiet and dangerous and it takes everything Stiles has to stay in that chair.

“Hunters wouldn't ask the sort of questions that Arthur was asking.” (Sorry, big bro.) “But you're into something weird, you've got to be, because you believed me. But I still don't get why you think you can keep me safe, even if you are a giant ninja creature.”

Eames and Arthur share one of those annoying looks, like they can read each others' minds. “Later, Stiles,” Arthur says. Trust me, Stiles.

This is his brother, but it's a big ask. It's about then that the waitresses come over, looking concerned and Stiles and Eames sidle out, looking cool, calm and collected. Or, Eames does. Stiles mostly looks shifty.

Later once they're home, Arthur asks “When is dad getting back?”

“A little after midnight. He's got desk duty for his shift tonight.” What? Of course Stiles knows what his dad does and when.

“Okay. I'm getting changed.” Eames nods and follows him, while Stiles watches, bemused. Yeah, changed. Ehehehe. He's channel surfing when they back downstairs about three minutes later and apparently changed wasn't actually a euphemism. Huh.

Compared to them, though, he is kind of grubby and Stiles spits on his fingers and starts rubbing at the blueberry sauce on his t-shirt. He might need to get a dishcloth and some soap. Damn. Arthur winces, like watching this is physically hurting him and turns and leaves while Stiles runs a corner of a hand towel under the tap in the half bath downstairs and rubbing ineffectually at his shirt. The next thing he knows, Arthur is throwing an ironed (who irons things? Really?) and perfectly folded shirt at his head.

“Put it on, Stiles.”

“We look like we're going to a funeral.” His words are a little muffled by the t-shirt and Arthur catches his (unbruised) shoulder, examining them for a moment before letting Stiles finish dressing.

"Who says we're not?" Eames says. Stiles has to find his shoes again and when he comes back, Eames is saying “...ception. With that damage, it could work...”

“Like last time? No, we'll do it the old fashioned way first,” Arthur replies before they both stop talking because sometimes, it's as though people don't want to tell Stiles all the details. “Better,” Arthur says, speaking more loudly now. “Good clothes are weapons, Stiles. Don't ever forget that.”

Stiles thinks of Lydia and nods.

Eames checks all three of his guns (three guns! Again, what the hell people?) and says “We're going to go visit Derek, Stiles. You're welcome to come.”


End file.
